We Were Double Crossed at XX-Day...

Let's Get ROYALLY FUCKED for TRIPLE-XXX-DAY!

7-7-99

That was the new slogan I kinda HAD to come up with when the Rupture once again appeared to have been postponed. *I* thought for SURE that this would be IT. I most certainly had no speech prepared for the eventuality of a NON-Rupture. I think that the 50 or so people gathered there by the pavillion in Brushwood that morning can vouch that the little Frank Capra type sermon I spewed out was entirely spontaneous.

BUT FUCK IT!! MY FAITH IS UNWAVERING! In retrospect, it is BLATANTLY OBVIOUS that we NEEDED another Drill. We STILL aren't ready. As much Slack as even Jesus and I tried to not try to achieve without trying, this time, we obviously needed this ONE LAST TEST.

One of many things I learned this time -- the best way to handle the horrible reality of BEING AWAKE at 7 am in the morning at Brushwood, for me, is NOT after all to attempt to "get some sleep" the night before, but rather to JUST STAY AWAKE ALL NIGHT. On coffee. That's what seems to work best for me. Good clean livin'. Funny how some of us oldtimers outlasted all those KIDS that make fun of our advanced age and seeming decrepitude. While I was leading the chorus at 7 am, they were all snoring in their tents with their teddy bears and hang-overs. Once again I out-ranted, out-danced and out-sold the mockers half my age. WITHOUT FALSE MAN MADE DRUGS! (Man made booze, God made poison ivy -- WHO DO YOU TRUST?)

Xist no-show notwithstanding, this was by FAR the Slackest X-Day Drill I have ever experienced. Jesus, Legume and I all swore we would NOT WORK for SLACK this time, and somehow, EVERYTHING GOT DONE ANYWAY! Actually, it got done by the ones who DID work their asses off, especially Popess Lilith, IrRev. Friday Jones, Papa Joe Mama, Chas Smith, Modemac, Ed Strange etc.

One person and one only was PAID to work his ass off -- Regis Sedlock, the sound man whose machines we used. I have about a dozen DATs here and cassette safety copies too, off the mix board, plus 9 rolls of High 8 and Video 8 that I shot of "location" events. The mysterious Rev. Damon "That Guy with the Video Camera that Never Talks" Smith also shot like mad. His and Rev. Chris Lee's footage from last year were the main ways *I* got to experience X-Day 98, repeatedly. I will start sending frame grabs to a.b.s. and SubSITE soon as I can. Please send me copies of ALL your home movies.

Incidentally, the shutting down of SubSITE yesterday was an ill timed accident. The web server company didn't get the monthly payment that Jesus had mailed. I called 'em and they said they'd reinstate it on my cognizance (and with my personal credit card #).

THE SCARY PART

My one misgiving about XX-Day 99 was the Sentencing-Punishment of Papa Joe Mama. The sentence itself -- time served, FORGIVENESS FROM "BOB" and a $5 fine -- was in many ways much worse than the official Friday Jones Formal Beating or what had been planned for later. There was another HOUR of torture and beating scheduled, plus triumphant returns, etc., that Papa Joe himself was eager to do, but which worried the HELL out of Jesus ands me, physical-danger-wise, so when the suggestion was made to end with the "bondage" and NOT proceed on to the DRAGGING BY PICKUP-AND-CHAIN AROUND THE CAMPGROUND, the Lord and I were relieved. However, I think it broke Papa Joe's heart not to get "killed better" after all the work he'd put into his own execution. Good thing he didn't have thousands of dollars of his own money invested, then he'd have ended up being beaten financially too. Several of us know what THAT feels like. But, now that he's outted himself, and everyone knows he was working for Clinton and all those federal agencies all along, he's been fired, so hopefully he's broke enough now that he won't be able to work for anyone else BUT the Church, and we can hire him back knowing he won't have any divided loyalties. Too bad that the Church doesn't actually PAY anyone except "Bob."

Legume had predicted early in the weekend that this might be "The One Where They Went TOO FAR," and there was a stretch during the Ordeal by Jones that I thought might be such critical mass point. Here was this SubGenius in front of me, shackled and powerless, surrounded by tatooed bully primitives chanting "KILL HIM!", the whole savage scene lit by a giant bonfire inside a psuedo-Thunderdome, with a half naked, REALLY CRAZY-LOOKING woman in Slymenstra make-up WHUPPING him with a crop and brandishing a VERY LARGE GLEAMING KNIFE. Now, most of this had all been long planned out and arranged by all the participants beforehand, and in actual fact Papa Joe was surrounded by friends (including medical doctors) who had no intention of hurting him, but there came a point when Friday diverted from the script and... the vibe changed. Papa Joe never stopped wisecracking for a minute, but I could tell he was NOT happy with the turn of events and to tell the truth, I became scared partially shitless myself. (It caught up with me the next day.) For a minute there I thought Friday really WAS gonna shave Papa Joe's head with that huge knife, or try to. Papa Joe was blindfolded, and he has a GREAT imagination, so I can only guess what might have been going through his mind. (Because I couldn't wear glasses, I was as good as blind during most of the X-Day 98 ordeals and stunts that I underwent the previous year, and I can assure you that it's UNNERVING AT BEST to be surrounded by a bunch of UNQUESTIONABLY INSANE ARMED BLURS.) During that bizarre tableau I got a case of the nervous flight-or-fight shakes that still hasn't completely gone away. That was one WEIRD fucking moment or ten. I still feel a little like the way the "Good Germans" must have felt when they watched their Jewish neighbors get dragged away by the Gestapo, without DOING anything about it.

I guess some things just aren't funny, no matter what angle you look at them from.

"It's all REAL FUNNY... until somebody gets their FEELINGS hurt." -- Legume, repeatedly during the weekend.

Papa Joe came through the ordeal with PRETURNATURAL MANLINESS, however, PROVING that's he's TOO GOOD for his former Conspiracy masters. All of our PREVIOUS captured infiltrators BROKE.

I got my feelings hurt REAL bad early in the event when somebody accidentally told me the one joke that I couldn't take. Luckily, screaming always makes me feel MUCH better, and besides, right after that happened, who should waddle up but that ridiculous geek LOCNAR (now respected Governor Rocknar)-- HANDING ME ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS IN CASH DONATION TO THE CHURCH plus a shitload of numerologically and/or metallurgically significant spare change, a huge pile of books and 'frop, and a million earnest suggestions. Considering the low TURNOUT, and the world not ending AFTER ALL, Locnar SAVED OUR ASSES and I IMMEDIATELY forgave HIM, all the other DUMBASSES, and even myself, declared Locnar officially "cool" instead of officially "uncool," and just felt much better generally about everything. Of all people, it was Locnar who made the Conspiracy lower that shotgun that they had pointed at me and Jesus. Ironic but true. That clumsy, ill-mannered geek saved up $20 a week from his Conspiracy job for a YEAR to buy back his honor. By gobbs it worked. Well, I dunno about Locnar's honor; that's between him and the world. But he certainly made up for his past idiocy and saved our butts for another month. You might say that Governor Locnar paid for SubSITE to stay open this month. Damn good thing, too. We thought the world was gonna end, so we were planning on stiffing all our creditors right and left, leaving NO cash reserves for July. I mean, we aren't STUPID.

What I just described were pretty much my only freakouts the whole weekend! That's NOTHING compared to the previous Drills. This was like an ORGY of NOT-A-SHIT-GIVERY! (Especially considering that *I* am the one who goes to jail if something goes... "TOO FAR.")

I should mention one other SPOOKY and potentially disastrous moment. The.... "head" launching.

As everyone knows, the Bleeding Head of Arnold Palmer was Launched officially for the last time, with dynamite, last X-Day Drill 98, in the presence of Janor Hypercleats, who no longer wants said no-longer-valid Head launched by us, for trademark and copyright reasons. However, nothing has been said about Launchings by ACTUAL ROCKET (instead of golf club) of ENTIRE UNSANCTIFIED PALMERIAN BODIES (instead of decapitated golfer heads SOLELY). It seems Dr. Legume found a dozen G.I.Joe-sized Arnold Palmer Action Figures at a thrift store. And it seems that Commander Chas Smith, aka Dances with Rockets, happened to be holding a public mass launching of his dozens of self-built spaceships.

The head-inclusive Palmer carcass was strapped to Chas's biggest, most powerful rocket, the fuse was lit, and....

THE NOSECONE OF THE ROCKET POPPED OFF AND FLEW INTO THE AIR A FEW FEET.

That is, the ROCKET'S HEAD ITSELF was mysteriously "Launched". And I do mean mysteriously. Some freak misfire happened that caused not a launching, but an air build-up inside the rocket which then blew the "head" off the top exactly like a cork flying out of a popgun.

The Palmer carcass remained strapped to the stationary rocket on the launchpad, grinning and still gripping his Club.

As if in MOCKERY!!!

If on the second try that had happened AGAIN, I would have fled the site immediately and have quit the Church and all other occult groups FOREVER!!

Luckily, the second rocket motor successfully SENT THE PALMERIAN FETISH OBJECT HIGH HIGH HIGH into the stratosphere.... we could faintly see it plunge back to Earth somewhere in the woods outside the camp, perhaps to be found by some hapless Amish child out seeking buried forbidden technotreasure.

THE ENSLACKENED STUFF

The best thing at any SubGenius Cult Compound Suicide Drill is swapping mind control yarns with old friends, and meeting new weirdos whose whereabouts your whole life you wonder about. That's what I mostly did. The richest veins of bold surrealism are mined in plain SubGenius conversations. That's where the "themes" develop that then dog everybody throughout the event and for long afterwards. These themes or memes or whatnot are different from clench to clench or clique to clique or however you want to put it. The Dallasian Hierarchical Clique for instance got into this that versus that battle. That is a picture of "Bobs" erstwhile bodyguard, Dr. G. Gordon Gordon. A not particularly good picture. It is merely THAT. Duh. SOMEBODY printed up thousands of THAT (even labeled, "that") and THAT was turning up everywhere in the campground -- the undersides of toilet seats, etc. Pagans will be stumbling upon tattered thats for months and scratching their heads. Gordon got revenge by carrying with him a horrible little memo dictation box that replayed 7 of the most puerile Dobbsian and Gordonian slogan quotes, all delivered in Gordon's gravelly rasp. The constant repitition from this machine, often amplified through Jesus's equally hated and abused bullhorn, prompted both great mirth and fantastic irritation. (Best of these machine-repeated slogans was, "What's the matter, haven't you ever seen a man with THROAT CANCER before?" which he would MOUTH ALONG WITH.)

I know that every group of SubGenii has its own special Sacred Irritant Loops that work similarly.

As in every Drill, there were currents of underlying emotional interpersonal dynamics, crackling like live wires with explosive potential. I do my best to merely OBSERVE these undercurrents rather than stir them up in any specific individuals, but my learned colleague Dr. Legume always seems to create some new technique for mind expansion that he tries out on some LUCKY CALLOW YOUTH each year. And sometimes they WORK, and the callow youth in question LEARNS a thing or two and eventually CLUES IN about when to SHUT UP and NOT say the silly thing that was about to leap out. Among other things. These "victims" should PAY Legume DEARLY for what he's trying to do. New Age therapists would charge literally thousands of dollars for what Legume can impart with ONE TERRIFYING SESSION.

"ROCK AND STICK" were his tools this year, and the little island in the big pond called "Pastor Craig Island" was the staging ground. The vile leech filled waters in which I met my Waterloo last year were the Moat of Fate.

I don't want to further embarrass the WRETCHED LOSERS so I'll say no more, except that there was one wretched WINNER. Locnar. That hulking, grossly sunburned, crater-butted babbling maniac said "FUCK the boat," plunged right in and bashed the first frog he saw over the head... and WOULD have eaten the god damned frog, I really believe he would have, RAW, had it not gotten lost; he gobbled a handful of the algae murk anyway.

In the country of the total dumbasses, the half-brained idiot is king.

I am SO glad I have already been through all my SubGenius Rites of Passage. SO very glad.

I THINK. I suppose we still have The Lawsuits to look forward to... O HURRY UP, TRIPLE-XXX-DAY!!!

MORE FUN STUFF

Lest anybody get the idea that our little end of the world suicide shindigs are nothing but Hunter S. Thompson nightmares entirely filled with cruel gauntlets, the happy go lucky, frop-permeated, standard traditional SubGenius Death Camp fun-n-games far outnumbered the vicious, violent clashes.

THE BLOOD WRESTLING, for instance. Good clean fun, if you call amateur wrasslers smeared with various bodily fluids and paints "clean". This one was a Wei-dream come true -- MULTIHUED RAINBOW LOVE WRESTLING TO THE DEATH. The initial contestants wrestled on a huge slippery black tarp in their choice of SINGLE colors -- blood red, sperm white, puke green or Morlocks blue. The WINNERS then mixed in ALL colors atop a gigantic AMERICAN FLAG (seriously, a 40 x 50' flag). Some were clothed and some were semi-clothed. Some were buff, built and tanned, some obese, pasty and nerdful. Beautants all.

What probably slammed more jaws against the wet grass than any other sight, however, was when IrRev. Friday Jones emerged to wrassle Papa Joe, wearing NOTHING BUT HEAD TO TOE SHINY JET BLACK GREASEPAINT and an AFRO FRIGHT WIG. When the DAYGLO GREEN PAINT was splattered against her by FluidMastress Cristina Bucket, MAH GAWD. She looked just like an XX-Day web page on SubSITE. Seriously, you'll have to see the pictures to believe it. Even with the KNOCK-OUT BABES that were everywhere you looked at this Drill, Friday Jones DEFINITELY retains her crown as SubGenius PIN-UP QUEEN.

Pastor Craig and Friday Jones at first AGAIN beat all "comers" except for the new Champion of JHVH-1, "MEAT." Meat is a new Brushwood staff guy who looks just like a bald muscle man from the Poser 3D program, only with graphics wrapped all over him in the form of tatoos... sort of a Quequeg effect. He did some excellent tag team ranting with (again, of all people) Locnar in the dead of night, too. However, in the FINAL BOUT, the ultimate FINAL CHAMPEEN of the entire event , the last woman left lolling, was the VERY impressive new "SubGenius Cartoon," Rev. Angela. Wait'll you hear the TRANCE CHANNELED RANT-SPOUT she spewtered into my StangCam mic while still on the high of victory.

THE MUTANT PROM

This was such gentle wrestling. All in their finery or slobbery, stumbling like cripples or gliding Fred and Ginger style, what a fine and romantic all-clown circus scene it was to look upon. It was just like High School all over again, but a funhouse mirror image, with the weird geeks the majority and the "popular normals" so ostracised that you never even saw any. Some people wore actual prom clothes (Friday wore her original, which still fits these 1700 years later); others wore things like Russian Communist Bondage gear. You name it. Most lovely of all was Popess Lilith, who was crowned both King AND Queen of the Prom, and got all choked up, and all.

Onan crooned real life Glen Miller type prom songs from the 40s for half an hour and then the drunken SubGenius soloists started taking to the stage. And they SANG GOOD! Except for me and Jesus. We tried to sing that Overman song that Onan usually does but... ummmm.... the Lord was drunk on two chocolate beers and I can NOT sing human-like notes. MODEMAC of all people did this incredible angry RAP song, with the gigantic hulking biker Rev. Aaron doing killer mouth-drum beat accompaniment... ASTOUNDING! KillBob Radio sang and that one guy that I keep forgetting his name, he did that Tom Lehrer Irish cannibal song, "Rickity-tickity-Tin" or whatever, PERFECTLY! I cain't remember what-all maniacs sang what-all. It'll all gradually comer out in the tapes...

When the a capella singing ended, I slung on my cassette compilation of "X-Day Songs" by misc. rock bands, a real cross section of styles and periods in apocalyptic rock songs, and there was much frenzied dancing to Ramones and suchlike. Some felt the dancing music ended too soon. That's the problem with "schedules." XX-Day's are a little easier to take, if you don't take the schedule too seriously.

THE BANDS!!!

Not ONE of them shat the hot tub! NOT ONE!!! WE'VE PROVEN OURSELVES! WE ARE REDEEMED!

I knew what to expect from Einstein's Secret Orchestra -- SHEER INESCAPABLE GREATNESS, from their Friday night instrujam to their all-songs "CONCERT" on Saturday night to their FLAWLESS DEVIVAL BACKUP when I preached... NONE COMPARE!! ALL OTHERS MUST DIE!!! Not ONLY did you get the "Doors-in-the-19th-Dimension" musicianship, you also got the LIGHT SHOW, the LIGHT DANCERS, and the LIGHT-"BOB"-CLONE in the NEON ROBOT SUIT (a creation of Dr. Mojo).

And with the heretofore un-unwrapped combo LUST IN SPACE, you AGAIN got full space costumery, space music, space instuments, and a FULL FLEDGED SPACE QUEEN. These guys play a wonderful surf-Jetsons-bachelor-thrill-kill- -stripper-sleaze-futurismo-acid-trance-bop genre of their own, sort of retro-futurism you might say, and like ALL true Dobbs-approved bands, they have a booklet with cool clip art-like illustrations that explains their origins and their Space Names and stuff.

And then there was LITTLE FYODOR and BABUSHKA!!!

MAH GAWD!!!

When they VERY first started I thought, for half a second, "OH NO, they're TOO weird even for the SUBGENII; I told them it'd be worth their while to drive all the way here from Denver because they'd have the PERFECT AUDIENCE, and half the SubGenii have radio shows, but now here they are the the SUbs are just sitting there with their mouths open...."

But they were, like I had done 6 months earlier, sitting their with their mouths agape in SOLID WONDERMENT and AWE. For Little Fyodor is the BOB DYLAN of weirdos, my friends. He and his lovely keyboardist Babushka have picked up where DEVO left off and rendered something EVEN YET MORE PURE. Elvis Costello was a LAME POSER compared to Little Fyodor, in terms of Nerd Angst, my friends. And yet HILARIOUS, CATALYTIC nerd angst. WHEW!!! I knew that of all the SubGenii, Onan Canobite would be most impressed, and I turned to look at him, and he had tears welling up in his eyes and an angelic expression of beautificment upon his little monkey face.

ALL HAIL LITTLE FYODOR!!! GREATEST SPAZZ ROCK STAR OF THE CENTURY!! ONE BILLION TIMES COOLER AND FUNKIER THAN THE ROLLING STONES!!! EIGHTEEN ZILLION TiMES MORE POETICAL AND ARTISTIC THAN THE TALKING HEADS, CAPTAIN BEEFHEART, WILD MAN FISCHER, JOE AUFFRICHT, JANOR HYPERCLEATS AND CHARLES BUKOWSKI COMBINED!!! Woody Allen is a dimwitted FABIO by comparison. Jimi Hendrix WOULD bow to this man, this Little Fyodor, I VOUCHSAFE YOU THAT!! The SubGenii in that pavillion went into WILD GYRATIONAL CONNIPTIONS and were "ululating like Iranian women" after EVERY song!

And I probably have an EXCELLENT recording of this concert on dat DAT! AAIEEEE!

MY NEW SUIT!

The mighty Rev. Bunny (who runs the Mehandi corsets-n-silks-n-henna stand at Brushwood and is a professor of textile arts, or some such thing) -- she made me a NEW PREACHING SUIT!! TWO in fact. One big green suit with flashing lights and feathers on the shoulders, covered with weird leafy designs, and a INSANE HAWAIAN STYLE LIGHT SILK SHIRT-ROBE bedecked with ELABORATE and colorful SubGenius logology. I wore my old white prom suit at the Mutant Prom... for the last time. Debuted these two new ones on what I thought was The Last Day of Earth.

THE TRIAL OF PAPA JOE MAMA

This was FUNNY, unlike the nightmarish SENTENCING. With Jesus for Judge, me as prosecuting attorney for Friday Jones, Susie the Floozie and Ed Strange as bailiffs, and worst of all, Lonesome Cowboy Dave as his defense attorney, Papa Joe Mama was DOOMED. A sick travesty of justice, a shameless wallowing in corruption. Then it was discovered that none other than BILL CLINTON wanted us to PARDON Papa Joe, because it turned out that he WAS, AFTER ALL, an infiltrator for god only knows how many federal agencies! (Not that that's any big strike against him; several well known SubGenius officers and priests double as federal agents on their day jobs.) In some ways, as bad as the punishment phase was, Papa Joe should consider himself lucky that he was only thrown to Friday Jones, and not to the slavering jaws of that lynch-mob-frenzied crowd.

Papa Joe, though he was found as guilty as the home-made sins of fourteen thousand motherfuckers by this court of hopping marsupials, nonetheless staunchly maintained a CONTINUOUS STREAM of MANLY WISECRACKS and COMEBACKS, proving himself a veritable SEARGEANT ROCK of martyred preachers. Once again, Joe Mama lived up to his reputation as the LEAST BRAIN DAMAGED SUBGENIUS PREACHER, faster on his feet than any other mortal comedian, serial killer or salesman besides J.R. "Bob" Dobbs. And FRIDAY JONES. NOTHING is faster than Friday Jones.

ROCKETS!!!

The formal mass Rocket Launchings Mass and 'Tater Cannon Artillery Testing in the Cape Brushwood gantry area, preceeded by a somber Einstein's Secret orchestra religious processional, was certainly impressive enough, what with rockets raining down on tents and car hoods all over Brushwood, and even snaking off horizontally across the grass, but even better were the SNEAK TEST launchings at NIGHT, and the EXPERIMENTAL DEPTH CHARGES set off in the pond, which were so good they got ALL SUBGENIUS FIREWORKS *EXCEPT* ROCKETS BANNED FROM BRUSHWOOD FOREVER!!! Apparently, horses were kicking down their stalls in terror all over Amish country that night. The fireworks show that Ed Strange produced on Pastor Craig Island will be the last of its kind at Brushwood.

Understandable.

I could go on and on, and will. Later. I continue to be stunned by the creativity of SubGenii. Given nothing more than a rock and a stick, one of these unbelievable Yetinsyny will create anything from a fully operational, money-making Pleasure Saucer to a deeper, darker prison for themselves. You just NEVER KNOW what they'll come up with! Sometimes SubGenius "HUMOR" is a RISKY BUSINESS. PULLING GOD'S LEG is ALWAYS risky business, and you'd GOD DAMNED WELL BETTER BE FUNNY when you do it, or you are in a WORLD of hurt. The pink feathers and the rancid pond are always waiting RIGHT AROUND THE CORNER for the unwary SubGenius.

That "Bob." He can be a HARSH SLACKMASTER! Not a contradiction in terms at all. His perfect Slack has to come from SOMEWHERE... and WE'RE the ones who keep on coming right back to him, pushing all our money at him and saying, "THANKS, "BOB"!!"

Third Time's the Charm,

Rev. Stang

----------------------------------------------------------------------

From: monsterwax@aol.com (Monsterwax)

<<Script?
What script?
Stang, I diverted from the "script" about THIRTY SECONDS IN. Papa Joe was
under the impression that I wouldn't hit him AT ALL, so everything from the
first THWACK! of that big rubber paddle across his shoulders was a
SURPRISE.>>

Yeah Friday, the punch to the nutts was a bit unexpected too. What's a matter?
'fraid I might not otherwise have Mutant children?

But the biggest "suprise" had to be the NAIR cream in my hair. I limped back to
camp thinking, "Whew, at least she left MOST the hair" only to have it all fall
out when I returned home and showered. Now I feel like a cross between Doktor
Legume and Dr. Evil!

Oh well, it's good practice for the concentration camps I guess.

And now it's time to plot MY revenge. (A dish best served COLD. Heh-heh-heh)
Rest assured, me and Mr. Biggolow will cook of something verrrrry
interesting...

----------------------------------------------------------------------

From: friday@subgenius.com (Friday Jones)

In article <19990709015933.12994.00008207@ng-fx1.aol.com>,
monsterwax@aol.com (Monsterwax) wrote:

> <<Script?
> What script?
> Stang, I diverted from the "script" about THIRTY SECONDS IN. Papa Joe was
> under the impression that I wouldn't hit him AT ALL, so everything from the
> first THWACK! of that big rubber paddle across his shoulders was a
> SURPRISE.>>
>
> Yeah Friday, the punch to the nutts was a bit unexpected too. What's a matter?
> 'fraid I might not otherwise have Mutant children?

Now that was a MISTAKE. I TOLD you to wear the ankle restraints so that
you wouldn't shift your arse around too much, but NOOOO!
If you refuse the safety equipment, you can't blame me if you get hurt.

> But the biggest "suprise" had to be the NAIR cream in my hair. I limped
back to
> camp thinking, "Whew, at least she left MOST the hair" only to have it
all fall
> out when I returned home and showered. Now I feel like a cross between Doktor
> Legume and Dr. Evil!

I'm just trying to give you that sexy Pastor Craig look.

> And now it's time to plot MY revenge. (A dish best served COLD. Heh-heh-heh)
> Rest assured, me and Mr. Biggolow will cook of something verrrrry
> interesting...

"Bob"damnit, Papa Joe, you can't plot revenge for a revenge! You hurt me,
I hurt you, we're even so let's just kiss and make up, OK?

--
*** SLAK WARS - EPISODE 1:THE SUBGENIUS MENACE ***
The most controversial SubGenius Devival EVER!
Visit http://www.fridayjones.com for details

----------------------------------------------------------------------

From: Popess Lilith von Fraumench <p-lil@ZubJenius.com>

In article
<geoff.bronner-ya02408000R0907990919080001@news.dartmouth.edu>,
Geoffrey V. Bronner <geoff.bronner@dartmouth.edu> wrote:

> In article <friday-ya02408000R0807990659580001@news.tiac.net>,
> friday@subgenius.com (Friday Jones) wrote:
> >
> >"Bob"damnit, Papa Joe, you can't plot revenge for a revenge! You hurt me,
> >I hurt you, we're even so let's just kiss and make up, OK?
>
> I'd buy a ticket to see that.

Pervert.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

From: geoff.bronner@dartmouth.edu (Geoffrey V. Bronner)

You got that right.

"It only takes one child to raze a village."

----------------------------------------------------------------------
From: Popess Lilith von Fraumench <p-lil@ZubJenius.com>
X-SubLiminal: Popess Lilith is a babe
XX-Day: OR DUH

[[ This message was both posted and mailed: see
the "To," "Cc," and "Newsgroups" headers for details. ]]

In article <19990709015933.12994.00008207@ng-fx1.aol.com>, Monsterwax
<monsterwax@aol.com> wrote:

> And now it's time to plot MY revenge. (A dish best served COLD. Heh-heh-heh)
> Rest assured, me and Mr. Biggolow will cook of something verrrrry
> interesting...

Oh golly gee, Papa Joe, what are you going to do to Friday THIS time?
Accidentally hit *her* in the nuts?

If you paid your $30, "Bob" would've given you a nice pair of brass
balls, and instead of pain we would've all been treated to a loud,
sonorous ring that would've driven all the pagans away. But NOOOOOO...!

Rest assured, any offense against House Friday will be tantamount to an
act of war against the Cascadian SubGenius Empire--and I *know* we've
got bigger rocks and sticks than you do. So relax, pay that damn $30
already, get the brass balls, and become cool and studly like the rest
of us. The alternatives are... unthinkable.

The Empress Lilith

----------------------------------------------------------------------

From: friday@subgenius.com (Friday Jones)

In article <geoff.bronner-ya02408000R0907990919080001@news.dartmouth.edu>,
geoff.bronner@dartmouth.edu (Geoffrey V. Bronner) wrote:

How much would you pay extra, say, on top of a regular Devival admission fee?
Just curious,
Friday

----------------------------------------------------------------------

From: "Rev. Magdalen" <magdalen@home.com>

Monsterwax wrote:
> And now it's time to plot MY revenge. (A dish best served COLD. Heh-heh-heh)
> Rest assured, me and Mr. Biggolow will cook of something verrrrry
> interesting...

Uh, Papa Joe, you know I always sided with YOU, right? Buddy? Pal? Heh
heh, I was only PRETENDING to laugh, to FOOL the OTHERS...

----------------------------------------------------------------------

From: emanisir@rahnt.com (Tom N Harris)

Governor Rocknar <Locnar@IgLou.com> wrote:

> In article <090719990911453242%p-lil@ZubJenius.com>, Popess Lilith von
> Fraumench <p-lil@ZubJenius.com> wrote:
>
> > [[ This message was both posted and mailed: see
> > the "To," "Cc," and "Newsgroups" headers for details. ]]
> >
> > In article <19990709015933.12994.00008207@ng-fx1.aol.com>, Monsterwax
> > <monsterwax@aol.com> wrote:
> >
> > > And now it's time to plot MY revenge. (A dish best served COLD.
> > > Heh-heh-heh) Rest assured, me and Mr. Biggolow will cook of something
> > > verrrrry interesting...
> >
> > Oh golly gee, Papa Joe, what are you going to do to Friday THIS time?
> > Accidentally hit *her* in the nuts?
> >
> > If you paid your $30, "Bob" would've given you a nice pair of brass
> > balls, and instead of pain we would've all been treated to a loud,
> > sonorous ring that would've driven all the pagans away. But NOOOOOO...!
> >
> > Rest assured, any offense against House Friday will be tantamount to an
> > act of war against the Cascadian SubGenius Empire--and I *know* we've
> > got bigger rocks and sticks than you do. So relax, pay that damn $30
> > already, get the brass balls, and become cool and studly like the rest
> > of us. The alternatives are... unthinkable.
>
> And if Papa Joe had REAL BRASS BALLS, he wouldn't stop at JUST $30. ;)
>

That reminds me...

I see this mail-order catalog for Lillian Vernon (motto: "[Frop] with
Lillian Vernon and you will get SUPERIOR prices at IRRESISTABLE
quality!") And onn the cover of this thing is advertised:

"3 mirrored obelisks and 3 BRASS-STUDDED BALLS -- just $49.98! (Free
shipping on orders over $50 until 8/28/99)"

Anyway, I saw this and said, "Damn! I want 3 BRASS-STUDDED BALLS."

(I just can't figure out what else to buy so I can get the FREE
SHIPPING.)
--
* All opinions expressed are yours; you have only yourself to blame *

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